


Reluctance

by FluffyGoddess



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGoddess/pseuds/FluffyGoddess
Summary: Written for Jaime x Brienne Week 2016, off the prompt Reluctance.
I took it as an excuse to write wedding night smut.  They may be reluctant to show off their scars, but they'll find a way through.





	

                _She's got fears enough.  Don't pile yours on, too,_ he told himself, as Brienne closed the door behind them.  The bedchamber prepared for them was dim, only a few candles lit, although he knew there was no shortage.  The fire in the hearth was more for comfort than for warmth this far south, and the hangings were the clear azure and heavy gold of their newly joined houses.

                Joined forever, now.

                She was squaring her shoulders, her hand still on the latch, and he had to swallow to wet his mouth.

                "Come here, love," he asked.  A small smile brightened her face as she walked up to him, the tips of her boots showing beneath her skirts.  He'd almost offered to wear the damn dress for her given the trouble it had caused, but she'd looked pleased enough with it when the time came, and he hadn't wanted her to think he was mocking their wedding.

                There was a steadiness in being near her.  He pulled her close, the warm smells of their wedding feast still lingering in his nose.  She tilted her head as he kissed her.  He adjusted the angle a little, the soft swell of her cheek against his nose, and watched while her eyelids fluttered closed.  So, so sensitive, for a warrior who'd faced hell at his side, and he eased his mouth across hers to make her shiver.

                Kissing they'd done, a little, but she hadn't learned yet to demand her pleasure here as she demanded his surrender in the training yard.  He drew her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it gently, tasting a trace of wine still lingering there.  He closed his own eyes, then.  Better to concentrate on exploring her, on working her blood to a steady boil, and gods but she was quick to learn.

                He pulled himself away and went to kiss her neck.  She gasped, but she also flinched, and he looked up in worry.

                "Brienne?"

                "The scars are… not much faded."

                He shrugged.

                "I know they're there.  I was with you when you got them, if you'll remember."

                She blushed.  In better light blushing made her freckles stand out like sores; tonight, it was a sweep of colour over her face, and he followed it down her throat with his eyes.

                "You saved me," she whispered, nodding.  Then, "they aren't my _only_ scars."

                "Do they bother you, still?" he asked, thinking of the phantom pain at the end of his arm, and the ache in the once-broken rib, and all the other hurts he rarely wanted to mention.

                "They'll always be ugly."

                Oh.  That.

                "You survived the getting of them," he pointed out.  He reached up and tapped her nose.  "I didn't marry you for your _looks_ , you know."

                She turned a frustrated expression on him, and he tried to look apologetic.

                "You've told me often enough.  And there are more mirrors than I can avoid, here," she grumbled.

                "None in this room, I don't think."

                "No.  Probably Septa Roelle's influence; may the Crone keep her well.  She always told me I should blow out all the candles before my husband had a chance to see me, if I was ever _fortunate_ enough to get a wedding night."

                "Every time you tell me more about her, I like this septa less," he mused, to give himself time to think.  "I like your looks, actually."

                She stepped sharply out of his arms, her nerves snapping a grimace onto her face.  He cursed himself for having misspoken.

                "You _are_ …"

                "No, listen!"  He followed her, and she backed up again.  Any other night he'd have given her space, but for tonight he continued.  Two steps and she'd caught his intent, her eyes flashing as she planted her feet.  " _Brienne._   I'm not pretending you're pretty.  I'm not closing my eyes and imagining…  I don't forget who you are.  _You_ are the woman I want as my wife."

                She closed her eyes, the line of her mouth tightening.  He sighed, and reached for her, placing her arms back around his waist with a coaxing smile.

                "Hmm?"

                "I trust you, Jaime," she said.  From her tone, she was reminding herself as much as him, but he'd take it.

                She closed her eyes when he bent to her neck, still stiff.  But she let him finish pulling the ribbon free of her collar and part the stiff fabric, and he pressed his mouth to her skin as worshipfully as he could.  She tasted of sweat, and smoke, and want not yet satisfied, and he licked the edge of her scars, soothing her jump with his hand spread across the small of her back.

                "Oh!"

                He grinned, and traced her throat, the heavy tendon guiding him up behind her ear.  She gasped for him when he kissed her there.  The flex of her hands spoke of wanting more, so he tried the edge of his teeth, just a little – and oh, to have her suddenly arch her neck for him, animal surrender all tied up in womanly pleasure.  It more than made his heart race.

                "Please, I—"

                "Yes, Brienne?" he prompted, teasingly.  He found her earlobe and tugged it gently, to keep her attention there while he switched to holding her with his right arm, freeing the left.  "Something you wanted?"

                She fisted a hand in his hair, startling him, and then her mouth was on his, all eagerness now.  She nicked his lip with a tooth, but what was that, when her tongue was inviting his to play?  He groaned into her kiss, bringing his good hand back up to the laces of her bodice.

                He had half of them loose before she grew shy again, one of her hands coming up to stop his.  He spread his fingers, half on cloth and half on skin, and let her see the hunger in his eyes.  She eyed his mouth, and his own high collar, swallowing hard against him.

                "This will go better without clothes," he pointed out.  Diffidently, though the absurdity of it almost made him laugh.  He'd seen her in far fewer clothes than this; seven hells, she'd had her hands on his naked thigh and her fingertips digging dragonglass out of him not half a year before.  Now they were _wed_ , and he couldn't even strip her to her shift without making her uneasy.

                "I _know_."  He licked his lips, in case that helped her.  She closed her eyes.  "I…  I mean no offense.  But would you mind if I blew out the candles?"

                "If it will ease your mind, wench, you can throw them out the window," he growled.  _I knew your shape in the blackest part of the Long Night, and I'll teach you to fuck in the daylight when you've fewer fears to lose.  We have time to tarry.  Thank the gods, we have time to tarry together._

                "Thank you," she said, more sweetly than she needed to, and he let her slip out of his arms.

                In truth, the darkness did him as many favours as it did her, these days.  He was no longer the most beautiful man in Westeros; scars of his own, his maimed limb, and the grey creeping daily into his hair, all had seen to that.  He'd taken to shaving his beard to spare himself the sight of it.

                He worked on his own clothes while she darkened the room.  And his gold hand.  Better to get _that_ awkwardness out of the way.  The tall, war-thin line of her was a dark silhouette across the room by the time she was done, barely padded by her gown.

                "Come back to me, wife," he whispered.  He thrilled when she obeyed, the floor echoing her usual stride.  She stood before him, studying him in the shadows, while he pulled his shirt over his head.

                "What should I…"

                She trailed off, biting her lip.

                "I won't hurt you," he promised, in case that was what made her hesitant.  This close to the fire, there was enough light for him to see her smile.

                "You never do, Jaime," she said.  "You'll get cold, standing there."

                "You warm my blood too much for that."

                She shook her head at him, so he caught her hand, turning it round so he could kiss the palm.  Her fingers were chilled, but the hollow of her hand was warm.  The veins inside her wrist beat against his lips in time with her pulse.

                "Jaime?"

                He paused.

                "Yes?"

                "Should we go to bed?" she stammered out.  He wanted to laugh.  Shy, and stubborn, and in her own quiet way as fixed on their business this night as he was.

                "Yes," he agreed at once.  "Take off this gown, Brienne, and come to bed with me."

                "You sound pleased with yourself," she muttered, pulling her hand from his and ducking her head to find her own fastenings.

                "I've been wanting to say that since before the war started."

                "Which war?"

                "I was thinking of the Second War for the Dawn.  Are we counting the siege of Riverrun as part of it?"

                "Generally, we don't."

                "Then let me correct myself."  The outer layer of her gown dropped, unloved, to the floor.  He let his eyes rest of on the shape of her he could see through her shift, unabashed by her flush.  "I've been wanting to say that since before the siege of Riverrun."

                She looked at him, her eyes catching the light, and he offered her his hand for balance while she stripped off her boots.

                "We couldn't have."

                "No."  He knelt to deal with his own boots, glad they buckled instead of laced.  "I know.  I knew then, too.  If I'd thought I _could_ convince you to break your vows and join me in bed, I'd have tried."

                She snorted.

                "I'd have bloodied your nose for your trouble."

                "Precisely."  He stood with her assistance.  The floor was damned cold beneath his feet.  Her fingers crept in between his, callouses meeting their mates, while his missing hand ached to touch her.  There was nothing for that.  She was staring at the bed, but she looked down at him when he nudged her with his hip, and something in his face made her smile.

                Jaime led her to the bed hand in hand, and she lifted the blankets for them to slip under.  He pulled her in after him, shivering a little as the cold linen flowed over his skin.  She followed him quickly.  They'd shared beds before, though never without cloth between them, and she fit so easily against him that he caught his breath.

                She shifted, experimentally.  He let her work herself halfway on top of him, taking a moment to tuck his maimed hand up beneath the pillows.  He tracked the crinkle of hair at her groin as she settled.  She was hesitant still, with his thigh between hers, propping herself up on her elbows.

                "Am I too heavy?"

                "What?  Gods, no, Brienne.  You're perfect," he assured her.  He caught the flash of her teeth against her lip.  He strained his neck to kiss her before she could bruise herself, though he fell back into the pillows gladly when she pushed him down again.

                "You're the only person in the world who could say that without making me want to hit them," she mused.  He grinned.

                "Then it's a good thing I'm the person you married, isn't it?"  She snorted.  He traced a fingertip up her spine, liking that it made her twitch.  "You _are_ perfect, my wife."

                "I am stubborn, and unladylike, and ugly, and you are not in the habit of forgetting my faults.  Is this what is meant, when women are warned that men are like to make up whatever stories they think will please in bed?"

                "I think the stories are supposed to lure the women _into_ bed, but I've never developed the skill."

                Her next shift dug the jut of her hipbone against his cock.  He grunted, and moved beneath her.  Her eyes widened.

                "What…"

                "You've seen me naked before," he pointed out, with one eyebrow raised.  He'd been half-hard already; now, with her curls to cushion him, his prick swelled.  He was sensitive enough to feel how well their bodies were placed; unless he was going mad, that was the cleft of her against his length.  And the reason she'd caught her breath was his prick against one particular part of it.

He didn't think he was going mad.

                "Yes, but I've never felt…  Um."

                "Never?  Really?"  She turned her head, and he dropped the glee in his voice to something less likely to offend.  "Then we'll learn together, my wench, how I can please you best."

                She rocked against him, her breath an unsteady gust against his lips.  Slowly, then again, faster.  His lips curled into a smile as she blinked, and blinked again, looking far too shocked for a woman of her years.  It was impossible to resist taking up her rhythm.  He rubbed his cock against her, not nearly enough when he wanted _in_ , but he'd learned something like patience over the years.

                "People do not speak of a…"

                Her mouth hung open, words still trapped in her throat.

                "Hm?"

                She pushed against him, hard, and her hands went to his shoulders.  He stilled, while she struggled for composure.

                "I have heard far too much advice about what to expect of _sex_ ," she said.  Her voice came out half-strangled with embarrassment, and he took his hand from her hip to stroke her side.  "Enough to confuse me."

                "If any of it came from that septa I keep hearing about…"

                She shook her head.

                "Septa Roelle only said – be obedient."

                "It's a bed, not a battlefield," he snickered.  "Out with it, Brienne.  Tell me what's in your thoughts."

                "Nobody has spoken of a wife's _pleasure_ in all that advice.  But you do," she shyly murmured.

                "Of course I do," he said, honestly perplexed by this.  Her eyes flicked up to his, then settled somewhere closer to his nose.  Her usual compromise, when she didn't want to meet someone's gaze.

                "Women speak of pain."

                "There's always a little, I'm told," he admitted frankly, "but _only_ a little – and there's pleasure to be had, first."

                "First?"

                "Yes, _first_.  Do you doubt me, wife?"

                "Of course not."

                Good.  She sounded impatient now, instead of worried, and he grinned.

                "I _want_ your pleasure," he told her, halfway between playful and seductive.  "I want to melt you with it."

                "Melt?"

                "Here, lie back."

                "Jaime…"

                "Thank you.  I'm a proud man, you know."

                "Arrogant," she corrected.

                " _Proud._ "  He rolled over beside her, careful not to bump her with the stump of his wrist.  She lay propped up against a fold of coverlet, most of her hidden by the sheets, her legs likely pressed chastely together despite herself.  He put his good hand on the slight curve of her breast and his thumb on her nipple; her chest rose to meet him.  "A lover takes pride in pleasing his wench.  To know you want me – to see your lust, and know _myself_ the cause…  Oh, I want that.  Believe me."

                She frowned, despite the flush on her skin.

                "You'd tell me, if I did something unnatural?"

                He raised his brows, and she squirmed.

                "Do I ever miss a chance to tease you?" he asked.  Easier, perhaps, to reassure her thus, rather than try to tell her he'd welcome anything she did.  She did smile, and reach for him, so he counted it a good choice.

                He leaned in to take her mouth on the logic that she wanted him to.  She welcomed him, this time parting her lips for his tongue as soon as they met.  Her spine arched, pushing her small breasts close enough that he felt the peaks against his chest.  He worked his hand down from them, palming the long stretch of her stomach, and down to the nest of curls at her groin.

                So willing, and so shy.  He'd dealt her blows that bruised for weeks, training with her.  Now he brushed his fingers against her as delicately as he could, scarce feeling her warmth through his callouses.  Her kiss faltered with surprise, but she was no fool.  He murmured approvingly as she parted her legs, but kept his touch too light to spark the slightest pain.

                He found her wet, when he worked his way low enough.  Wet, and already swelling for him, the thick lips of her mouth echoed here.  He hummed, pleased with the compliment her body was giving him.  A touch firmer, now, as he stroked her, across her opening and up to the bud of her pleasure, over and over until she groaned.

                "Let me hear you, sweetling," he urged.  "Tell me, when I please you."

                Unexpectedly, she laughed.

                "Always, Jaime."

                He smiled, and bent to her throat.  He could draw the most wonderful whine from her, he discovered, just by teasing her _so_.  Quickening circles with his fingers, and a kiss that would leave painless bruising behind her ear.  He rather looked forward to her discovering that.

                Her hands stroked him, exploring with greater comfort now.  He liked her gentleness.  She petted the greying fur on his chest as if it were as soft as a young man's, and kissed what parts of him came into reach.  He answered her curious tweak of one of his nipples with a careful nip to her ear.

                Still, he'd been told enough of maidenly fears to pull back and watch her eyes.  He _thought_ her ready for it, but she tensed when he pushed one fingertip gently into her.  Inside she was hot, and so, so tight.  They both knew he'd be putting something much larger than a finger there soon, but for a moment he couldn't imagine how.

                "Ease up, Brienne.  It's just me.  Only me," he promised.  She lifted her chin in half a nod, but her passage stayed so close he wasn't sure he could move his finger without hurting her.

                He reached for her nub with his thumb, glad at least that the slick between her legs spoke of want.  Kisses would help, he thought to himself, and brushed his mouth against hers.  She was distracted, but she opened for him easily enough _here_.  He kept the kiss gentle, nearly languid, until he had her full attention.

                Her eyes closed.  She dug her shoulders back, making herself more comfortable, while he followed.  A pillow was awkwardly bunched, and she tugged it to a better angle, unaware that she'd left his stump exposed.  He eyed it, but if he moved to hide it again he'd risk his balance.

_She's seen it before, and never flinched away,_ he reminded himself.

                And she was softening, too.  His finger eased in, not all the way, but further, and her nub was as hot and swollen as he could desire.  He kissed her again, and again, light kisses alternated with deep.  She had one hand in his hair, combing through it.  Or tangling it.  He didn't care which.

                "Oh!"

                He kissed her temple.  She gasped again, while he worked his thumb more firmly against her, and he couldn't help his smile.

                "Like this?"

                "Yes, please.  Please, Jaime."

                "Gods, you're almost begging," he breathed, and kissed her before she could turn her face from him.  "I love this.  Making you feel like this, _seeing_ you like this…  That's it, Brienne."

                "Stop talking," she grunted, making him laugh.

                "You like my voice."

                "I do," she admitted.  Her hips rocked up to meet his hand, sliding the full length of his finger in.  It didn't seem to hurt her, not even enough to make her hesitate, so he started to work it in and out.  Gently, which was hard to coordinate with the circles his thumb was tracing, but he'd done more difficult things for her.

                "Ah, sweetling," he crooned.  "Love.  Brienne."

                His wife was gasping now, and she squeezed her eyes shut.  He felt his mouth go dry as she shuddered.  Sweet, sweet tremors, and the yielding flesh about his finger tightened and loosened and tightened in rhythm with her hands on his back.  He worked her, watchful for any sign she wanted more, or less, or anything different at all.

                At last she cried out, soft and wondering, and every muscle went lax.  He hid his smile in kissing her breasts, sure his expression would be too smug for her taste.  She stretched beneath him, patting apologetically at his back.

                "I've bruised you," she murmured, though she didn't sound distressed by it.  He choked on a laugh.

                "Never apologize for that."

                "As you will," she agreed.  He nipped lightly, to answer her complacency.

                Her cunt was warm and wet around him.  She stroked his hair, as he slowly withdrew his finger and pushed in again with two.

                "Alright?"

                "Mm-hm.  Come up here."

                He went, and was rewarded with a kiss.  He kept a slower rhythm on the knot of her pleasure, now, and though she clenched on him now and again, she welcomed his fingers as she welcomed his tongue in her mouth.

                "Pleased with your husband, my wife?" he teased.  She blushed, and stretched her neck.

                He felt a flicker of uncertainty, but she only smiled at his stump when she saw it, and nuzzled the hard scars there.  Not a lover's kiss – not a tease, to show she accepted it.  Just acceptance, itself.  He swallowed down the instinct to pull away.

He'd frozen in place, he realized.  His thumb twitched.  Then the rest of his hand.

                "You please me, Jaime," she said, so easily.  "Was that what you meant?  When you said you wanted to…"

                "To see you melt?" he finished.  "Yes.  And I want it a thousand times a night for the rest of our lives."

                She laughed.  He pouted dramatically, though how he could feign anything but joy as her leg rubbed alongside his, he didn't know.  He spread his fingers within her, wondering at how easy it was now, when she'd been so fearsomely tight before.

                "A thousand times a night, Jaime?"

                "You can choose the number, if that seems low," he offered, mock-generous.  "But I won't stop wanting to."

                "I want you to, too," she told him, blunt.

                "Soon," he promised, and tried a third finger.  A wince crossed her face, if only for a moment.  He withdrew the finger, damning his eagerness without words.

                "Jaime."  She had her hand on his.  He froze, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted.  The stubborn wench reached for his fingers, her skin dry compared to his, and _pushed_.  "I'm well prepared."

                He shook his head, but gave her back the third finger, working gently at her opening to teach it to widen for him.

                "I'm not a small man, Brienne."

                "I have an inch in height on you," she muttered.

                "Not what I meant."

                His thumb had gone idle again.  He tried rubbing around her nub, in case she was too sensitive for more so soon.  She squirmed.

                "What – oh."

                "Exactly."

                She couldn't actually see his prick, arranged as they were, but he knew she'd seen it before.  And they were so close all it took was a turn of her wrist to put him in her grasp.

                She hummed.  Her fingers closed on him and he shut his eyes, his breath quickening.

                "Brienne…"

                "Should I not?"

                Innocent, honest curiosity, and her ever-present fear of failing him beneath it.  He bit back a groan.

                "You should.  Oh, you – you _definitely_ should.  Slowly, love.  Yesssss."

                Unsure whether to curse himself – for being too old to risk spilling in her hand lest he be unable to bed her properly this night – or thank the gods – because he had better control of his cock than he'd had as a boy – he settled on moaning.

                "Like this?"

                "Fuck!"

                She made a pleased noise.

                The stubborn wench was probably only too happy to figure out she could master him so easily.  Unwilling to let her win this, he redoubled his efforts, wanting more of her sighs and groans.  Wanting to get _in_ her, finally, too.

                But he wanted her on the brink of another climax first, and he got her there with three fingers inside and his thumb bold against her.  Her whole body relaxed again, like he'd found some knot deep within her that would only come loose for him.

                Her hand squeezed his cock, a little over-hard, and he quietly thanked the gods that he hadn't found his peak in watching hers.

                He waited until her eyes were focused on him again before he drew his hand away entirely, and grinned to see how little fear was in her.

                "Jaime," she whispered.

                "Breathe," he counselled, feeling absurdly that he was more anxious than she was.

                And then he slid inside of her, and she bit her lip, but didn't tense.

                "Shh, love.  The pain will pass."

                She rolled her eyes at him.

                "There's little enough pain, Jaime."

                "Good."

                He'd planned to stay still, to give her time to adjust, but she was warmth and wonder and everything he'd dreamed.  He'd waited too long to take his time about this now, not with her hips rising encouragingly, and he pulled out and thrust in again with a grunt.

                She made a contented sound.  Her throat arched, and he bent to it, kissing along the tendon there to find again where she'd proven so sensitive.  His brave, careful wife, whose legs clutched round him as he worked in her.  He growled against her skin, his hips snapping faster.  Faster still, when he found himself still welcomed, and then that perfect rhythm, and the crest he'd sent her to twice breaking over him like a mace to the top of his helm.

                When he came back to himself, ears ringing with pleasure, she was watching him.  She looked far too amused for a maid only just deflowered.  He slumped, his cock slipping from her with a sound that only made her lips twitch.

                "Alright, wench?" he asked, though his throat was dry.  Had he roared his pleasure?  No.  No, he was sure he'd been quieter than that.

                "Yes, Jaime," she answered, her arms guiding him to lie down beside her.  "Yes.  Come here, love."

                He went, and found her eager for his kiss.


End file.
